“A little one.”
“Can she have a princess dress?”
“Caleb…”
“Please?”
I crouched beside him.
“It’s sweet that you want to get her something. But forty-two dollars is a lot of money.”
He thought about that.
“How much do I have?”
“At home?”
“Yes.”
“Maybe eight or nine dollars.”
His brows pulled together.
Then he looked through the window again.
I should have recognized that look.
It was the same look he got when building a Lego set without instructions.
The look that meant he had stopped seeing a problem and started seeing a mission.
“Okay,” he said.
That was all.
Just okay.
Then he walked away.
I assumed the conversation was over.
It wasn’t.
PART 3 — WHAT MY SON DIDN’T TELL ME
Over the next three weeks, Caleb became strangely interested in money.
He asked if he could rake Mrs. Ramirez’s leaves.
